And after that he sits motionless and silent, and they
talk as if he were not there.]
GODLEIGH. What's all this, now--no scandal in my 'ouse!
CLYST. 'Tes awful peculiar--like a drame. Mr. Burlacombe 'e don't
like to hear tell about drames. A guess a won't tell 'ee, arter
that.
FREMAN. Out wi' it, Tim.
CLYST. 'Tes powerful thirsty to-day, Mr. Godleigh.
GODLEIGH. [Drawing him some cider] Yu're all wild cat's talk, Tim;
yu've a-got no tale at all.
CLYST. [Moving for the cider] Aw, indade!
GODLEIGH. No tale, no cider!
CLYST. Did ye ever year tell of Orphus?
TRUSTAFORD. What? The old vet. up to Drayleigh?
CLYST. Fegs, no; Orphus that lived in th' old time, an' drawed the
bastes after un wi' his music, same as curate was tellin' the maids.
FREMAN. I've 'eard as a gipsy over to Vellacott could du that wi'
'is viddle.
CLYST. 'Twas no gipsy I see'd this arternune; 'twee Orphus, down to
Mr. Burlacombe's long medder; settin' there all dark on a stone among
the dimsy-white flowers an' the cowflops, wi' a bird upon 'is 'ead,
playin' his whistle to the ponies.
FREMAN. [Excitedly] Yu did never zee a man wi' a bird on 'is 'ead.
CLYST. Didn' I?
FREMAN. What sort o' bird, then? Yu tell me that.
TRUSTAFORD. Praaper old barndoor cock. Haw, haw!
GODLEIGH. [Soothingly] 'Tes a vairy-tale; us mustn't be tu
partic'lar.
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